The Adventures of Jon the Stu
by Writer From Rivendell
Summary: After killing himself with a piece of paper, Jon finds himself in Middle Earth as a Stu.Complete
1. Jon Enters the Fellowship of the Ring

Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings. I don't even own Jon. All I own is . . . *looks at stuff she owns* a book.   
  
A/N: Here we go again. This is a parody, designed to teach. If your story uses one or more of these plot devices (suicide as a transport to Middle Earth, mysterious destinies, characters with pointed ears finding out they are elves, adding a new character to the Fellowship, making said character refuse the Ring, making said character extremely handsome, etc.), I suggest that you either A). Find a beta, or B). Get a new beta. That's it.   
  
With that said, enjoy the story. *Cough* If such a thing is possible.  
  
Jon's life sucked. That much was clear. Made fun of by the other kids at school for his height (he was abnormally tall), for his freakishly pointed ears (a birth defect), his lovely singing voice (it wasn't his fault that he liked singing!), and his love for Thoreau, there was nothing he could look forward to. It was because of being different that Jon decided something needed to be done. An important something, that would make people both remember and pity him. He decided on suicide.   
  
His internet pal, name WfR, tried to get him not to do it. "Don't kill yourself, Jon - it will be okay!" she shrieked at him over livejournal.   
  
It touched Jon that his internet pal cared about him enough to get him not to commit suicide, but it was too late. By the time he received WfR's comment on his livejournal post, he had already slit his wrists, using a piece of paper to do the deed.   
  
"It's too late," Jon wrote back, blood threatening to short out the keyboard. "I'm already dead."  
  
When Jon awoke, it was in a different place that he did not recognize, somewhere bright and white. "Ah, no," thought Jon. "My plan failed! I'm not dead - I'm in the hospital! Next time I'll remember - never slit your wrists with a piece of paper. It just doesn't work!"  
  
Jon sat up, and, groggy, looked around. The first thing that he noticed was that his wrists, instead of being scarred or even scabbed over were completely healed - almost as if he had never cut them! This excited Jon very much, as he thought his wrists were among his better features. After all, without them, he couldn't do the sword fighting he so loved.   
  
"Wait a second," thought Jon, confused. "Why do I love sword fighting when I've never done it before in my life?"   
  
Jon did not have much time to dwell on this, however, for at just that moment, a beautful woman walked into his room. It was then that Jon realized where he was, and what his true heritage was.  
  
"Welcome to Rivendell, Master Dimtil," said Arwen in a breathy voice. "Have you returned now, at the turning of the tide, to claim your heritage and your promised bride?"  
  
For a moment, Jon was confused. Who was this Dimthil person she was talking about? Then it dawned on him. He was Dimthil, Dimthil the Elven Warrior, love of Arwen Evenstar, and rival to Aragorn, the only one who could stand the pull of the One Ring. He was in Middle Earth - he had returned!  
  
"Arwen," replied Jon, in just as breathy a voice. "Where is Elrond, for I much desire to speak with him."  
  
Arwen, smiling, led him to the small courtyard where a council was being held. The Council of Elrond.   
  
Clutching his library copy of Thoreau (strange how it had mysteriously arrived in Middle Earth along with him), Jon greeted those present in a booming voice.   
  
"Hello, and welcome, friends of old, hobbits, men." He paused for a moment, his gaze lingering on those few dwarves present. "Midgets. I am Dimthil, son of Lintecarka, rightful king of the united kingdoms of Mirkwood and Lorien, and love to Arwen Undomiel."  
  
A tall elf stood. "Dimthil! You have returned, and just in time. You will carry the Ring, and save us from the doom that is nigh upon us!"  
  
"Nay, friend Legolas," said Dimthil, his voice sorrowful. "I cannot tear so precious a thing from the hobbit that carries it. Frodo shall take the Ring, and I shall merely accompany him on his quest."  
  
Legolas nodded, appeased, and said, "So it shall be."  
  
Dimthil turned to Frodo. "You have my bow, ax, and sword."  
  
Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, each who had been planning to join, stepped behind him silently. As for Boromir, he was left behind. Because, as Dimthil said,   
  
"Nine walkers is enough, don't you think?"  
  
And so it began, the quest to destroy the Ring.   
  
They set out from Rivendell the very next day, intent on making their way to Mordor, lead by Dimthil. They were not far into their journey when trouble struck. Gimli and the hobbits became tired, and knew that there was no way they could go on.   
  
"Take the Ring, Master Dimthil," said the Ring bearer. "I am weary, and can carry it no longer. You must take it."  
  
"No," said Dimthil boldly. "I can't carry it for you, but I can carry it with you!"  
  
He then proceeded to pick up Frodo and the Ring, and carry them the rest of the way, leaving the rest of the Fellowship in the dust.   
  
Weeks passed. The Fellowship attempted to cross Carahras, only to be waylaid by the mountain itself. With the pass south unavailable to them, there was only one way out. They had to go through Moria.   
  
From the beginning, Dimthil was against going through Moria. After all, he alone knew what was lurking in the shadows of the mine. He'd been through the mines once before, before he'd been banished from Middle Earth forever by the Dark Lord only to come back to fulfill his destiny. So it made sense that he wouldn't want to go through them. Dimthil did everything he could to prevent the Company from passing through the mines, including but not limited to torturing Gimli endlessly about his height and refusing to give the password into the mines even when Gandalf asked for it. It didn't matter though. In the end, Dimthil gave up the password, and they entered the Mine.   
  
But not before Dimthil used his ax, sword, and bow to kill the Watcher in the Water.   
  
The mines were dark, and deep, easy to get lost in. Fortunately, there was no need to fear, for Dimthil's sharp eyes could see in the dark, and with his keen mind he remembered where to turn when the time came, that they might not stray off their chosen path. Indeed, days later, even while being attacked by Orcs and carrying a sobbing midget under his arm, he was still able to keep them on the right path. In fact, it wasn't till the Balrog appeared that Dimthil even thought of panicking.   
  
It came upon them while crossing the Bridge. Dimthil, who did not expect it to come upon them until much later, panicked momentarily, and almost dropped the short hairy guy under his arm, only to draw upon that secret inner strength he possessed, and stand up straighter before calling out,   
  
"You shall not pass! I am a lover of Thoreau, a believer in logic. Your chaos does not scare me! You shall not pass!"  
  
With that, he put down Gimli, took a seat upon the bridge, and, ignoring the sounds of hte battle surrounding him, began to read out of his library copy of Thoreau. He had only come to page ten of Walden when the Balrog, unable to stand such concise language, let out a groan and fell to the bottom of the chasm, landing with a thud and a snap, for it had ultimately broken its neck.   
  
Dimthil stood up and dusted off his hands. "All in a day's work," he could be heard to say, before grabbing a still-sobbing short dude and leading the company the rest of the way over the bridge.   
  
Under the instruction of Dimthil, the Company reached the borders of Lothlorien by dusk, and were taken to Cerin Amroth quicker than quick, for Haldir, the border guard, had known Dimthil since he was an child, and knew him to be the rightful heir to the throne of Lothlorien.   
  
Before anyone could say, Yrch, they were taken before Galadriel and Celeborn.   
  
"Dimthil," Galadriel greeted him. "You appear before us again, as handsome as ever."  
  
Indeed, this was true. Tall, even for one of the elves, with dark brown hair, mysterious brown eyes, and chiseled features, Dimthil was ruggedly handsome, and deserving of the love of Galadriel's granddaughter, Arwen.   
  
"Yes," he said, his every word a gift to the ears of his listeners. "I have returned to you now, at the turning of the tide, now, when the ultimate evil has been found, and one of the youngest of Middle Earth bears it."  
  
"I know of which you speak," said Galadriel, "for it is heavy in my mind too. Come - let us take council here now, the Nine and the Lady."  
  
"My companions are weary," said Dimthil kindly, "and I do not think they would like to hear what council you would give, Galadriel."  
  
"Very well," said Galadriel. "Our council will be held after the celebration."  
  
"What celebration," asked Dimthil, slipping back into Jon mode.   
  
"Why, the party we're holding for your return!" exclaimed Galadriel.   
  
"Oh, all right," said Dimthil dimly. "Then let us depart!"  
  
The celebration was great - Jon had to admit that much. After all, it wasn't every day that you got to see a bunch of elves get sloshed and party until dawn - especially not when they were elves you knew and admired, such as Galadriel and Celeborn. Especially when it didn't seem likely that elves could get sloshed. At any rate, it was interesting to see Galadriel stand on a table and dance.  
  
The Council held the next morning, however, was not nearly as fun. The matter of what to be done was upon them, and as none of them could think straight (being too hung over to think at all), they had accomplished nothing. Things went on in this vein for quite some time, until it was kindly suggested by Galadriel that Dimthil and the rest of the Company leave Lothlorien, as it seemed that no one seemed able to get any work done with Dimthil around. It was with sad heart that Dimthil and Company left. But not so sad that Dimthil didn't snigger at Legolas being stuck in a boat with Gimli.   
  
Ere much time had passed, the company found themselves at the Falls, and having to decide where to go next. It was obvious, of course, that they should go through Emyn Muil, but it was in this obviousness that Dimthil felt they would be too easily found out.   
  
"We'll go through Rohan," he decided, "and into Gondor. From there we can march to the Black Gate."  
  
Because Dimthil's logic was flawless, it was this plan they followed. 


	2. The Two Towers Condensed!

Disclaimer - Get this thing away from me! I don't own it, don't want to own it!  
  
A/N - Short. Extremely short. Because there's only so much you can do to screw up canon and make a long-ish chapter.   
  
Three hard days of running brought Dimthil and the company to the plains of Rohan, where they were soon met by a company of horsemen - Éomer's company of horsemen, to be exact. Being the influential person that he was, Dimthil soon had them convinced that he was not a threat, and that indeed the Rohirrim needed him almost as much as they needed their horses!   
  
"Look, Éomer," said Dimthil in the tongue of the people of Rohan. "My name is Dimthil, he so well known in your uncle's hall. I have come with this company of wanderers bearing what could possibly be a great gift to Rohan."  
  
Éomer frowned, and responded, "Well that may be, but evil events there have been of late. Myself, I am the only man who remains loyal to the king. Who are you to say that you are more worthy than I of passage into Rohan?"  
  
"Don't worry," said Dimthil brightly. "I'm not saying I'm more loyal than you are, or that your uncle is not in good hands with me - I'm just saying that a prophecy was made concerning Theoden and I, and that I'm supposed to save him from some evil fate. It's all written down in here, if you're not convinced." He held up a cheaply bound paperback book. "See this? It's called Jon's Adventures in Middle Earth, or Dimthil and What He Did There. I recommend that you read it. It's very good."  
  
Éomer sighed. "Very well. As you have proven yourself worthy of passage, we will allow you the right to trespass on our lands. May you and your companions be blessed. Oh - yes, before I forget - here, take these two horses. May they bear you to a better end than their previous riders."  
  
Dimthil smiled broadly. "Never fear. So long as I am here, there is no need to worry for anyone's safety." [1]  
  
Before long, Dimthil and company arrived in the Halls of Theoden, where they, upon it being learned that Dimthil was in their company, were greeted warmly by almost all. Almost all consisting of the Lady Éowyn and her companions, for it seemed that Theodred and Éomer had not yet returned upon their arrival, and Theoden was taking counsel with Grima Wormtongue.   
  
Nevertheless, with Dimthil around, things soon turned into an enormous celebration. Much ale was passed around, the hobbits sang, Aragorn did his impression of a tree, and Éowyn and Dimthil had an interesting time courting one another. Or, rather, Éowyn had an interesting time trying to flirt with Dimthil, only to have him resist her advances. Resisting meaning that when she tried to convince him that kissing was the way that the Rohirrim greeted one another he did not comply entirely. Entirely being something that is not discussed in polite company.   
  
The next day, Dimthil managed to convince Theoden that Wormtongue was not such a good advisor after all, thus making Theoden snap out of the odd state of being he found himself in, and become more like the king he once was. In his gratitude, he handed over half of the kingdom of Rohan - along with Éowyn's hand in marriage - to Dimthil. Dimthil though, was too proud to accept such a gift, and instead said to keep the land, and give Éowyn's hand to Aragorn. Aragorn, needless to say, was extremely happy. [2]  
  
After taking care of the entire mess in Rohan, Dimthil, along with Gandalf, rode to Isengard to convince Saruman that resistance was futile - er, that joining Sauron's side was A Very Bad Idea. Upon seeing Dimthil, Saruman, who had been rethinking his plans as it was, decided that it was probably a Very Bad Idea, and appealed to the Valar for forgiveness. Before he did, however, he got Wormtongue (who had followed Dimthil and Gandalf in hopes of relaying their plans to his master before they arrived) to see things his way, and they both repented at once. Because of Dimthil's noble, selfless actions many lives were saved. Because of Dimthil's noble actions, a ballad was later made about him. Finally, it was because of Dimthil that certain events that would have filled an entire book were reduced to just a few short pages.   
  
[1]. I understood maybe half of what Dimthil said to Éomer. Anyone care to translate for me?  
  
[2]. Well, if you can't have Arwen . . .   
  
Replies to Reviews:  
  
Ainu Laire - Cheesiness abounds . . . hopefully this chapter did not cause undue laughter. After all, the parody label is just to throw people off . . . ; )  
  
Eykar - Neither. The punchline, so to speak, is that Jon and I (WfR) are both PPCers and lovers of canon.   
  
Silverhill - Hopefully two days was not too long a wait. *Bows* Coming from someone who knows good parody, your words were high praise. : )  
  
UnDeadGoat - Yes, please put it up! Badfic writers need a lesson . . . and besides, I want to see what kind of reaction you get out of your readers!  
  
MarySuesREvil - Alakardiel is on hold until I have time (and inspiration!) to work on it. Thanks for taking the time to review.   
  
bryn bnw - Hooray! Someone who "gets" it. *Bows again* Thank you for piling such praise on an insane sixteen year old . . . who probably doesn't deserve it, as Jon is based on a real person. :)  
  
Nenya Culariel - Oh, no! Not Éowyn! I could never tear her apart from Aragorn! [/sarcasm] Never fear - Dimthil will get the girl. Just which one, is the question. Tragically and mysteriously, oh yes. The PPC will have something to do with it . . .   
  
Luhtarian - What - the spelling errors don't add to the over-all quality of the work? [/mock-horror] Thanks for pointing them out to me - I'll be sure to keep an eye out for typos in this chapter.   
  
Chapter the Third - In which we may or may not get to hear the Ballad written for Jon-the-Stu, in which there are three weddings and a funeral. 


	3. Ballad for Jon the Stu

Chapter the Third - The Ballad of Jon the Stu  
  
Disclaimer - Poor, poor Tolkien . . . I own not the Lord of the Rings, nor live journal, nor Jon. All I own is myself - WfR - who pops up in this story.   
  
A/N - This is the last chapter in the story of Jon the Stu, and possibly the first completed story I have up on ff.net. Hooray. It also involves a self-insert, a deranged Ranger, three weddings (all canonical, I assure you), and a funeral. Well, maybe two funerals, if the author doesn't pull herself together and start updating things faster.   
  
A long time ago - or maybe not,   
  
There lived a guy named Jon  
  
Who was really hot.  
  
Angsty, he killed himself - a bad move,   
  
But fell into Middle Earth,   
  
And got back his groove  
  
Mysteriously he was turned into an elf,   
  
Joined the Fellowship, killed the 'rog,   
  
And yet he remained his humble self -   
  
and took no credit for his (mis)deeds.  
  
For Jon a Gary Stu had become,   
  
Perfect and dashing, a wonderful guy -   
  
Loved by most, but hated by some.  
  
Because of these haters he met his demise,   
  
Was killed at night before his lover's eyes  
  
By a lover of canon - what a surprise!  
  
And where Jon has gone, no one may know  
  
Unless they, like he, tread on paths  
  
Where only the dead may go.   
  
-From, "Ballad for Jon the Stu", as sang by one of the PPC.   
  
After returning Saruman to the side of good, saving thousands of lives by not holding the battle of Helm's Deep, and managing to convince everyone that ents were imaginary, Dimthil the Gary - ahem, Dimthil the Brave and the Fellowship made their way first to Mordor, then to Gondor. In Mordor, it came to pass that the Ring was destroyed by Dimthil's hand, for the Hobbit who bore it was not quite able to do the deed, and instead willed that Dimthil cast it into the fire - which he did, and did well.   
  
And in Gondor, Dimthil met his demise.   
  
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, WfR was staring worriedly at her computer screen in hopes that Jon would mysteriously reappear, laughing and telling her it was all a joke, for even though she didn't know Jon that well and really didn't care if he lived or died, if he was really dead it would be up to her to tell everyone else on live journal what had happened to him - something she didn't want to do. She sighed, then jumped with a start, for something had occurred to her.   
  
"Wait," exclaimed WfR, horrified. "I'm being written into a 'Stu story! I'm being made a 'Sue! AAAAHHH!" Terrified, she clawed at her perfect face with her neatly manicured nails, in hopes of de-suing herself, but to no avail. WfR had become a Mary Sue.   
  
While WfR was trying very hard to desue herself, Jon was having the time of his life. His wedding to Arwen (non-traditional) had been pulled off without a hitch, and now he was enjoying himself at his reception, with one eye on Éowyn and the other on Arwen. His wedding was nearly over, his crowning (Aragorn had since admitted that he was wrong and that Dimthil was the rightful heir to the throne of Gondor) was to be the next day, and all across Middle Earth others were begging him to take over their thrones, in hopes that he might be able to save their people from ultimate destruction by the next dark power. All in all, it had been a good day, and he was looking to the night's events with anticipation -   
  
"Hold it right there," snapped a musical voice.   
  
Jon froze where he was, as did most of the other guests. He recognized that voice. As a 'Stu, he knew it well. It was the voice of a Mary Sue.   
  
"Jon," said the voice again, irritably, "You've become a Gary Stu. You've been dropped into Middle Earth, you have a fake elvish name and a ridiculous destiny, you've broken up canon couples, and you are handsome, brave, and altogether perfect - something that in real life you could never hope to be."  
  
"No I'm not!" protested Jon. "I have a hang nail, see? And later on, I have an affair with Éowyn and break Arwen's heart - that's certainly not perfect."  
  
"Jon," said the 'Sue again, "You're missing the point. Shall I show it to you?"  
  
Dimthil feigned a sigh, the whole while find his hunting knife and unsheathing it. "Sure. Go ahead, Mary."  
  
The 'Sue stepped forward. "My name," she growled, "is, or was, WfR. Learn to use it."  
  
Jon gasped and dropped his hunting knife. "WfR? What happened to you? You're . . . different!"  
  
WfR grimaced. "Yes. I have an enormous chest, my eyes are now no longer muddy brown but dark chocolate, my hair is down to my ankles, and I'm an elf." She paused for a minute. "Well, maybe I was an elf in the first place, but that's not the point. The point is, I have a tiny waist, tiny feet, and I'm a size two. I'm also instructed in more forms of martial arts than I can name, and I have a flamethrower. And I have to kill you now."  
  
Jon sighed. "Yeah," said he, "It's been fun, but now it's time to go home."  
  
"Go home?" inquired WfR. "Whoever said anything about going home?"  
  
"Well . . ." Jon began, then paused. "I sort of figured that since I got here by killing myself that I'd leave the same way."  
  
WfR sniggered evilly. "Ah, no. 'Fraid not, Jon. You see, you're not really dead, and I'm not really here."  
  
"What?" asked Jon dumbly. "How can I not be here when, well, I'm here?"  
  
WfR smiled oddly. "It's our internet personas. They're here, not us. In other words, when I kill you - and kill myself - neither of us will go home. Instead, we'll go back to wherever we were when the story first started - in my case, live journal, and in yours, probably napping somewhere."  
  
Dimthil gave her a blank look. "Run that by me one more time?"  
  
WfR sighed. "It's 'Sue logic. I don't understand it, nor do I pretend to. Leggy!!!1" She lunged toward the elf, presumably wanting to *glomp* him.   
  
"No!" cried Jon, stopping her by seizing her arm.   
  
WfR shook her head. "Good point." Without another word, she turned the flamethrower on first Jon, then herself.   
  
When Jon next awoke, it was to his keyboard making odd noises at him. Apparently, he had fallen asleep at the computer, and his lying on the keyboard had harmed it in some way. Shrugging, he was about to sign off the computer when he noticed that he had a new e-mail in his inbox. Slightly curious as to what it could be, he opened it and read it, only to end up wishing that he hadn't. Dreaming the experience had been bad enough - reading about it, worse.   
  
Of course, it never occurred to Jon that what he had experienced was not a dream, and WfR never let on that what had happened was anything more than a figment of his imagination. After all, she had been turned into a 'Sue - and as one of the major critics of Mary Sues, that was not something she wanted widely known.   
  
With a sigh, Arwen threw the last handful of dirt on to her ex-husband's grave. "Poor Dimthil. May you find rest in the West."  
  
Éowyn, who had since reconciled with Arwen and married Faramir, nodded. "This world was never good enough for him, was it?"  
  
Arwen shrugged. "Well, actually, I thought he was slightly power-hungry. And he was bow-legged. Aragorn's a much better catch, don't you think?"  
  
Aragorn, who was listening to all of this with contempt, smiled. "I believe so."  
  
It was to no one's surprise that Aragorn and Arwen were married less than a month later.  
  
Alas for the end of the Adventures of Jon the Stu! At this time, it must be said that canon snapped back into place shortly after Dimthil's funeral, meaning that Sam and Rosie were married, along with Aragorn and Arwen, and Éowyn and Faramir. Boromir, who had been left behind in Rivendell, was eventually found floating down the Anduin, dead, as he was supposed to be. Galadriel and the rest of the Lorien elves did not remember her - ahem - moment of indignity, and Arwen and Éowyn could never remember fighting over Dimthil. As for the various thrones of Middle Earth, they were left to their own devices, with Aragorn accepting the crown that was willed to him. Frodo sailed into the West, along with Bilbo.   
  
As for Jon and WfR . . . he remained much the same as before, though he could never find his library copy of Thoreau, while she was changed for the worse, fighting off the urge to write 'Sues, finally settling for a poster of Legolas, which she snogged passionately each and every night before going to bed.   
  
And, truly, that is the end of this tale.   
  
END  
  
Replies to Reviews:  
  
Ainu Laire - Yes . . . cheese. I hope that the end was good enough . . . I honestly didn't think it was that funny.   
  
Huinesoron - *patpats* Yes, well, feel free to kill it anyway. Hilarious? *scoffs* It's terrible. *chants* Torch it, torch it, torch it!  
  
UnDeadGoat - Well, um, thanks, I suppose . . .   
  
Laitoste of Rivendell - Oh, don't worry . . . I'm probably going to 'Sue myself next, just for fun. *laughs evilly* Yes, simple words indeed . . .  
  
Jon - *feels honoured that the person she 'Stu'd likes what she wrote* Wow . . . thanks. Librarian and you laughed over the killing of the Balrog? Hopefully you won't laugh over the losing of the copy of Walden . . .   
  
Bubonic Woodchuck - Nice idea . . . I might end up using it if/when I 'Sue myself. *grins*  
  
A/N - Yes, that's it. Yes, I know that this chapter was more sardonic than funny. And yes, UDG, hS, I know your full names. *coughs* Or, um, maybe not. Point is, the story is over, I'm not going to write any more, feel free to swipe Jon for your own character.   
  
And, yes, I might 'Sue myself. Be afraid. Be very afraid. 


End file.
